


(I Got Your Number) Off The Wall

by hazelandglasz



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - No Werewolves, Awkward Flirting, Flirting, Fluff, M/M, Puns & Word Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-17
Updated: 2018-01-17
Packaged: 2019-03-06 02:39:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13401681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hazelandglasz/pseuds/hazelandglasz
Summary: Anonymous prompt on Tumblr : Sterek meet because one had found the other’s number graffitied somewhere and called it as a prank





	(I Got Your Number) Off The Wall

Stiles is … puzzled. And a little bit intrigued, but really, confusion is the main emotion in his vodka-marinated brain right now.

The culprit? A poem of sorts scribbled on the exit door of the club he decided to go to in order to drown his sorrows about yet another promotion going to Jackson fucking Whittemore.

Wittless, as he is known in the office, but Stiles digresses.

The aforementioned piece of vandalizing poetry reads as follows:

“For a dreamlike moment that is not chimeric

Get a hold of Derek”, followed by a phone number.

Stiles will give the author bonus points for finding a rhyme to “Derek”, but still.

Who would do that?

A little voice whispers in his head that Scott would do that for him, if he felt like being a proper wingman for once.

Maybe this Derek is very shy. Or socially awkward—no judgment here, Stiles is a safe space in terms of awkwardness—to the point where one of his friends decided to put an ad for him.

Normally, Stiles would not pay attention to such a message, and he would return to his evening of libations.

But.

It’s a Friday night, he’s a little bit sad, a whole lot drunk, and his impulse control vacated the building along the fifth or sixth shot of vodka the barmaid slid his way.

So he does what Sober Stiles would only flail about, and pulls his phone out of his pocket.

What’s the worst that can happen, really?

“…’lo?”

“Is this—is this Derek?”

The sleepy tone acts like a bucket of cold coffee, bringing Stiles back to the actual situation.

He’s calling a stranger, based on a pretty poor rhyme, at 1.04 in the middle of the night. This is certifiably crazy.

A throat is cleared on the other side of the line. “Who’s asking?”

Well, no time like the present to make a complete ass of himself, isn’t it. “I found your phone number on a wall at Virginia’s Wolf,” he sighs, covering his eyes with his free hand.

A sigh replies. “I’m going to kill them. Just … my name and my phone?”

“With a little poem singing your … dreamy praise.”

“Slowly and with a rusted spoon.”

“Beg your pardon?”

“I’m going to kill my so-called best friends,” Derek repeats, but if Stiles isn’t mistaken, there is a smile behind that growl, “slowly and with a rusted spoon.”

Even though Derek can’t see him, Stiles makes a motion to zip his lips. “Your secret is safe with me.”

A little breathy sound, halfway between a sigh and a laugh, echoes in his ear. But it’s not the reason why Stiles feels all warm and fuzzy inside, no sir.

That must be the vodka.

“So I take it you were … interested?”

Why is this Derek even entertaining him? “When someone describes another person as dreamlike but not chimeric, I am at the very least intrigued, good sir.”

“Understandable. But it is 1 am.”

“So it is.”

“And I need to sleep.”

“Beauty sleep?”

“Well, dreamlike isn’t a given, it has to be earned.”

Stiles snorts a laugh. “And humble with that, I may swoon.”

Derek laughs too, though it does sound tired. “If you’re really … intrigued, and since you don’t sound like a total psycho, I suppose we could meet. In a very public place.”

“In broad daylight.”

“Precisely.”

“Once we both get our beauty sleep.”

“Once I get your name. Such an unbalanced footing you have our relationship standing on.”

Relationship?? Okay.

“Stiles.”

“S—”

“For now. If the relationship moves on to another level, you may have a mighty boss to face.”

“Such as?”

“My real name.”

“Oh, intriguing.”

“Theme of our first date?”

Derek lets another laugh out. “Deal.”

“We could meet at Meocha?”

Derek’s laugh intensifies, and so does Stiles’ interest. “The cat café?”

“Doesn’t get more public than that,” Stiles retorts. “And cats are pretty good judges of character—unless you’re allergic.”

“No, no, that’s fine.” Derek pauses. “You know, Stiles …”

“Hm?”

“I find you quite intriguing yourself.”

“Flatterer.”

“Only with people who want to meet a—how did you say it went?”

Stiles closes his eyes. “Dreamlike but not chimeric.”

“Only with people who want to meet a dreamlike but not chimeric guy like me.”

“Oh.”

Stiles didn’t think he would see himself speechless, and yet, he stands corrected.

Rendered speechless by a guy he doesn’t even know.

That bods well for their future.

“I guess I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“How?”

Derek makes an inquisitive noise.

“How will you know I’m me?”

Did Stiles mention the absurd amount of vodka in his veins at the moment?

“Wear a chimera,” Derek replies with a laughter in the back of his voice.

“Wha—you know what, okay, will do.”

“Seriously?”

“Deadly.”

“Hm, all right, Stiles.”

“Did I scare you off already? You haven’t even seen me flail around like a windmill.”

“Appealing.”

“It should be, it’s a …,” Stiles pauses for effet because he may as well, “brew-tiful sight.”

“…”

“Derek?”

“Oh my God.”

“Nah, Stiles.”

“May I say …”

“You may.”

“You seem like a tea-rrific guy already.”

“Tea-rrefying or tea-rrific?”

“Tea-rrific, for sure.”

Stiles barely restrains himself from squealing. Barely.

“See you tomorrow, Derek.”

“Til the morrow, Stiles.”

 That night, Stiles goes to sleep with an ear to ear grin.

\---

The next morning, Stiles doesn’t even feel the hangover.

The beauty of vodka, as far as he’s concerned.

That being said, the whole conversation with Derek seems unreal.

But his phone does show a conversation with a number not listed under any name, so it must be real.

And if it’s real, it means that Stiles has a date.

With a man who has the brain to match his own, who is slightly dorky, who has a solid sense of humor and an adorable laugh.

Now if the song is a beautiful as the plumage—or more accurately, the other way around—Stiles may have found the man of his dreams.

Ah, dreams.

Shit, Chimera.

“Scott?”

“Yes, buddy?”

“Do you still have my [Chimera](https://rlv.zcache.com/chimera_arts_maker_space_t_shirt-r704f5806c4eb4b1dbbae87c546434bf2_k2123_540.jpg) shirt?”

“Um …”

“Yesss?”

“Y-yes, I got it, I got it.”

“Faibreze it before handing it over.”

“Will do. Sorry.”

“As long as it’s stainfree.”

“Immaculate.”

“Sure.”

“Laundry is on me for the next two weeks?”

“You bet.”

Scott does look properly contrite when he hands over the Alpine Fresh-scented shirt. “Love you?”

“Love you too, Scotty.”

Scott sits on the bed, looking at Stiles’ choices of pants. “Take the black ones, they make your legs look even longer.”

“Thanks.”

“Hot date?”

“Maybe.”

“Do I know him?”

Stiles laughs as he jumps around to slide the pair of jeans up. “I don’t know him.”

Scott cocks his head to the side. “You want me to chaperone from afar?”

Stiles pauses, considering the merit of the offer. “Nah. But keep your phone nearby, I’ll call you if he seems too forward.”

Scott gives him a jaunty little salute before skipping out of the room. “Knock him off his feet!”

Stiles looks at his reflection, brushing his fingers through his hair. He doesn’t look half bad, if he may say so himself. The shirt is not overly stretched over his chest, but paired with the jeans, his outfit gives him a slender yet strong appearance.

Maybe.

He certainly thinks so, and that’s something to be proud of.

“Will do,” he tells himself in a whisper.

Showtime.

\---

Waiting for Derek could be excruciating for Stiles, especially since every man entering the café could be him, but it’s very hard to be anxious when you have a [solid weight](https://res.cloudinary.com/sagacity/image/upload/c_crop,h_2832,w_4256,x_0,y_0/c_limit,f_auto,fl_lossy,q_80,w_1080/shutterstock_379730806_xrxkx5.jpg) purring on your lap.

Stiles didn’t pick the cat, the feline picked him, and he seems to be very content to stay there while Stiles pets him continuously.

“Stiles?”

He looks up, and his jaw drops.

Okay, now, that’s a human chimera for sure.

Or lab engineered, at the very least.

Derek is one fine specimen of human being, definitely dreamlike, Stiles can give that to whoever he has to send a grateful fruits basket now.

“Derek?” he replies, just to be sure.

The cat on his lap is startled and flicks his tail at him before returning to his very important nap.

Derek takes a seat in front of Stiles and nods at his t-shirt. “I didn’t know how you were going to pull it off,” he says with a smile.

He has an adorable smile.

Stiles is so completely fucked, he can’t wait for it to be literal.

“I’m full of surprises,” Stiles replies, busying his hands in the cat’s fur less he does something stupid like throwing finger guns at Derek.

“So it seems.”

“Good surprises, most of the time.”

“Time will tell, I guess.”

Stiles clears his throat around the sudden knot lodged in it. “I hope you have some time, then, because some people may say that I’m an acquired taste.”

Derek looks at him, mouth tilted in a crooked smile. “I’m always up for a challenge.”

_Do not think about the kind of challenges you want to see him rising to, do not—_

“I swear it didn’t sound like that in my head.”

Adorable, through and through.

“Too bad.”

Derek’s eyes widen, along with his smile. “Oh?”

“Oh.”

“Let—let me get a coffee, and we can continue to awkwardly flirt at each other?”

“Be my guest,” Stiles says, waving a hand in the air.

As Derek gets in line, Stiles can appreciate the full picture.

Definitely dream-fucking-like.


End file.
